


It's Colder Than We Thought

by kingenjolras



Series: 57 Weeks [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4808165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingenjolras/pseuds/kingenjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire stops drinking, Enjolras has a lot of feelings, and Jean Prouvaire is a wonderful person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Colder Than We Thought

**Author's Note:**

> Hiii guys. So this fic is very long, and it took me a lot of time to write so I hope you guys like it!! Lots of love and I hope you enjoy reading (((:

_Grantaire_

Day 1

–

“Now,” Enjolras says, looking around at the group somberly.

The cafe Musain is completely silent, for once. Enjolras has called attention to the whole group, gathering them around one table in the center of their back meeting room. His voice is somber and calming and everyone can tell that something big is about to happen. It's the end of their meeting and normally by now they'd all be packing up and hanging around outside, talking, sharing cigarettes and drinks and words and eventually heading home to share beds and apartments.

They're all practically family at this point, the thirteen of them. They've been planning and attending rallies and protests together for years now. The original three, Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre, had recruited Joly and Jehan to help them with a rally six years ago. Jehan had subsequently brought Grantaire and Bahorel along for the ride after almost two years and Joly brought Musichetta and Bossuet, who he can't do anything without. The addition of Bahorel had eventually added Feuilly to the group almost a year later and Grantaire had brought Eponine around the same time. Courfeyrac had brought Marius after meeting him 2 years after Eponine had joined. He'd been welcome with open arms, as was his girlfriend, Cosette, after a year of Marius being in the group.

“Grantaire has an announcement to make,” Enjolras says, looking over to where Grantaire is sitting next to Bahorel. His eyes are somewhat glassy and red, but everyone can tell it's not from drinking, as it normally would be.

They've gotten quite used to Grantaire being drunk, as he almost always has been every meeting for all of the years that they've been having them. He's loud when he's drunk, making comments that aren't truly necessary and picking apart the parts of Enjolras' arguments that none of them would've even noticed. His hair is in its normal state of disarray, but he's been quiet the whole meeting, not even whispering sarcastically to Jehan while Enjolras spoke. He's had his head bowed, and the sleeves of his dark green sweater that he wears more often than not pulled over his hands, which have been rubbing over his thighs for the entire time the cafe has been quiet.

He's managed to rub some of the paint that had dried on his hands, the small flakes falling from his jeans as he stands up. He moves to the head of the table, nerves growing with every step. He knows he shouldn't be nervous, that he's delivering news that will have a hopefully positive reaction, but there are still thoughts, as always, that he can't help but have about himself and where he fits into the group without being drunk. He's only told Eponine his plan so far, having texted her last night for moral support. She's staring at him with an intensely worried expression on her face and Grantaire wishes he could just grab her hand and tell her that he's fine.

By the time he reaches the front of the room, which is only a matter of seconds after he stands, he's shaking, hands unsteady where they hang at his side awkwardly, gripping the material of his sweater.

He nods at Enjolras, who nods back and sits down at a chair far too close to him for Grantaire to be calm. He can feels everyone's eyes on him, and when he looks up again, he immediately makes eye contact with Jehan, who is staring at him with wide eyes, their currently teal colored hair pulled back into some of loose braid that Grantaire could never begin to understand. They're clearly worried, as is everyone that he looks at before he starts talking.

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and looking back at the floor before beginning to speak. Talking in front of them has never been so hard, and he can't help but notice that it's because of his lack of alcohol.

“I'm sure that it's no secret by now that I'm an alcoholic,” he starts, looking at his feet. He's wearing his favorite, most comfortable boots, but they're doing nothing to help him feel more secure. He's never openly admitted it to so many people and he feels like he's going to explode with shame because he hates it. He can already feel tears forming in his eyes at the admission, but he wants this to be over as soon as possible and the only way he knows to accomplish this is to be as blunt as possible. He hates how dependent he's become on drinking. “and I've come to the realization that it's ruining my life.” He's been thinking about it for months. How much he can't stand not being able to focus his vision half of the time. How much he can't stand how much drinking makes his self image worse. How he hadn't been able to paint for his latest portfolio because he'd been too drunk and he'd almost failed his class because of it. He's been having a harder and harder time even going for a day without alcohol. He's only been without a drink for almost a full day and he's already got a headache and he's been sweating for the past hour. He wonders if his friends can tell.

The silence feels like it's crushing him, so he continues to speak, despite the tremor that's sneaking its way into his voice.

“So, I've decided to stop drinking.” He can feel the tears in his eyes already and he doesn't want to cry. He stares at the floor as he talks. “I'm not going to rehab,” he adds quickly, knowing that that's what it sounds like at this point. “Unless I absolutely need to.” He wishes he had the strength to admit himself immediately, but he wants to handle his problems on his own, as stupid as that may end up being. “I want to try and do it on my own.” He hears the unmistakable sound of Jehan saying 'oh gosh', and he almost smiles. “I'm not sure if I'm going to stop permanently, but I'm going completely dry as of last night,” He feels like he might collapse when he hears someone whisper something that he can't quite hear and he can't tell if he's more relieved or ashamed of himself at that moment. He can't believe he's actually making this announcement in the first place. “And I just wanted everyone to know that I'm doing this of my own will, and I've made the decision not just for me, but for you guys as well, and I hope that once you meet me when I'm not drunk you'll still enjoy my company. I'm going to need a lot of support with this, since obviously I'm going to be going through withdrawal, and I'm sorry in advance for the way that I might act in the first few weeks of this.”

He twists his fingers together until it becomes painful before saying, “That's all.”

After he finishes, he looks up at everyone, trying to smile but doing a horrible job. Jehan is up in an instant, practically tackling him into a hug. He does laugh at this. He can always trust Jehan to hug him, no matter what the situation is. If he ever needs someone to cuddle, they're the first person he calls on. The embrace last only a few seconds before Jehan is pulling away and looking directly into his eyes. Grantaire is only slightly surprised to find tears running down their face.

“I'm so proud of you,” they say, smiling very slightly and putting their gentle hands on his face to make sure that their eye contact is maintained while they speak. “So proud.”

Grantaire attempts to smile again, a few tears escaping from his eyes as his smile quickly falls. He doesn't know what to feel, so he focuses on Jehan's hands tangling with his gently as everyone begins to stand up and crowd around him. Normally he would feel claustrophobic, but instead he feels comfort, still being surrounded by his friends after making one of the most important and scary announcements of his life.

After a few moments of silence, Jehan is pushed gently to the side and Grantaire is being wrapped into a hug by Bahorel, who speaks into his temple as Grantaire returns the hug, trying desperately to keep himself together. The hug isn't as gentle as Jehan's, but Grantaire appreciates it just as much. Bahorel is another person Grantaire can count on to hug to hug him for no reason other than just to do it.

“We're here for you,” he says simply. There's a murmur of agreement around the room that makes Grantaire clench his eyes closed for a moment. “All of us.”

Grantaire takes what feels like his thousandth deep breath of the day. He's still scared. Scared of how everyone will react when he's not fine anymore. Scared of how he'll be when he's not fine. He doesn't want to lose the only thing that he has in his life apart from his art that he gets joy from, but he knows he's in more danger of losing them if he continues drinking like he has been recently, and basically all of his life.

“Thank you,” he manages to say, voice thick with barely unshed tears, as he reopens his eyes. “I'm sorry.”

“There's no need to be sorry, Grantaire,” Combeferre says from somewhere behind him as Bahorel pulls away from the hug. “Jehan spoke for us all when they said they were proud.”

Grantaire turns slightly to look at him, only to find Joly standing right next to him. He wraps an arm around Grantaire's waist. “This is a really difficult thing to do, and if you need anything at _all_ , you can always call on one of us.”

Grantaire nods, looking around the room at everyone who's surrounding him. Even Enjolras is standing close by, a look in his eyes that Grantaire can't describe. He has to look away, refusing to be distracted by Enjolras at a time like this. He doesn't need his messy romantic feelings involved in this whole thing.

There's a silence that fills the room for a moment, everyone simply looking at each other with various expressions of anticipation and anxiety and even happiness.

Enjolras ends up being the one breaking it. s

“This is very brave of you, Grantaire, and I'll try to be understanding during meetings,” he says, taking a very small step towards Grantaire with his arms still folded like they almost always are.

If it had come from anyone else, Grantaire would've felt like they didn't care, but he knows Enjolras, and how he's always felt about Grantaire's drinking, so this is a big step for him and Grantaire decides to just except it for now, because it's obvious that he's at least trying, and he doesn't have to heart to argue.

“When I'm sober I'll be even better at tearing apart your speeches,” he says, attempting to smile again, but his tears are no longer unshed and they give him away. “So you better start preparing now.”

“Bring it on,” Enjolras says firmly, but his small smile gives him away in the same way Grantaire's tears do him.

Jehan's laugh is the loudest out of everyone's, and it makes Grantaire feel the slightest bit better. As long as he can still be funny without the alcohol, he figures he can make it through this. Especially if he can still manage to make Enjolras smile.

–

Day Three

–

He's in the middle of puking out his guts when Joly calls him back.

He's been trying to get a hold of him for half an hour, in between vomiting and crying. His head is spinning and he's been unable to stand from his place by the toilet for almost an hour now. His stomach is also aching from all of his dry heaving and the lack of anything in his stomach to actually vomit up. He's shaking as well, sweat seemingly pouring from all over him. Jolts of anxiety are also shooting through his body quicker than he can handle and he's breathing heavily. He feels he may pass out if it doesn't start slowing his breathing down soon. He's been trying to take deep breaths, but his chest won't cooperate with him and the it feels like something absolutely horrible is going to happen to him at any second.

He's gone through the same thing twice now, but the other times he'd had Bahorel there to talk to him and keep him sane and get things for him. Now, he's home alone, and he's pretty sure he's somewhere close to death.

He feels disgusting and ashamed and he just wants a drink. He knows that it will only provide a temporary relief and that he'll hate himself even more if he does it, but the urge is so strong that he's glad he can't stand up.

“Grantaire?” Joly's worried voice floats through his phone, which is sitting next to him on the floor on speaker phone. “Are you OK?”

“No,” Grantaire says, voice rough and thick. “I need help. I'm dying.” He can barely speak through his quickened breaths.

He knows he's not actually dying, but it feels like it in some aspects. His whole body won't stop shaking, he can barely breathe and he knows he needs water but he can't get up to get it. Bahorel had left that morning for work, after being reassured by Grantaire multiple times that, no, he didn't need him to stay home, again, and yes he'll call him if he needs anything. He regrets now not asking him to stay, but he knows that Bahorel's job as a firefighter causes him to not have much time to leave the station, especially since he's still partially in training. He'd already missed two days and Grantaire isn't going to cost his job by giving up drinking.

“Grantaire,” Joly says, switching to his most serious voice, obviously working past his worry. “Tell me exactly what's wrong please. I'm on my way over right now.”

“I've been throwing up for a long time and I'm here by myself. I think I need to drink something and I'm sweating very badly and-,” Grantaire cuts himself off, trying desperately to stop the gagging that he can feel is about to happen. “And I'm gonna puke again hold on.”

Joly doesn't attempt to say anything as Grantaire heaves into the toilet, only to have nothing come out of his mouth. Tears are streaming down his face by the time that he's done and his throat burns.

“I'm almost there. I was at Jehan's so I was close by,” Joly says when he's done, making Grantaire sigh in relief and lean his head back against the rim of the toilet. He's far past caring about how disgusting that probably is. “Do you feel dizzy? Are you feeling confused at all? Is your anxiety very bad?”

“Yes, I'm dizzy,” Grantaire replies, leaning heavily against the toilet for support. “No I don't think I'm confused about anything. Yes, I'm having a panic attack as we speak and I can barely breathe.” He pauses for a moment. “Is Bossuet with you?”

“No, he's with 'chetta. I need you to hold your breath for a second can you do that?” Grantaire can hear the cars that are around Joly in the background.

“Yes.” Grantaire takes the largest breath that he can, holding it in for only a few seconds before letting it back out.

“OK, Now, take breaths like that, only don't try too hard to hold your breath. Only hold it in for a few seconds at a time until you can breathe better.”

Grantaire does as he's told, taking progressively deeper breaths after a few minutes. The anxiety is still there, coursing through his entire body and making his hands ache, but at least he can breathe much better.

“Are you breathing better now?” Joly asks, and Grantaire hears the sound of a car door opening.

Grantaire hums in response, not wanting to mess up his breathing by talking just yet. His hands are shaking too badly for him to even attempt to pick up his phone from where it's laying next to him and the room still feels like it's going to close in on him.

“OK, I'm outside of your building right now.” Joly's voice is soft and careful. “Do you keep an extra key outside anywhere?” 

“The door is unlocked.” Grantaire focusing on breathing in between his words. He'd told Bahorel to keep the door unlocked this morning in case of emergency. He's very glad he did as he tries desperately to steady his hands. He knows its inevitable that Joly is going to see him like this, but he wants to at least not look like he's completely lost himself. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging on it slightly.

The line goes dead and Grantaire can hear the door opening. “Grantaire?” Joly calls for him, voice sounding a bit strained.

Grantaire finds himself unable to call back, due to his focus on breathing, but Joly finds him anyways, practically flying through the door to his room and into his bathroom.

“Oh, R,” He says, looking down at him. Grantaire knows the pity in his voice is likely unintentional, but the fact that it's there makes Grantaire's cheeks flush.

Grantaire looks away with a grimace, unable to reply. He's never felt so ashamed and he almost regrets calling Joly, but he knows that he needs someone to be there with him right now, despite how shameful it may be. He looks up at Joly, looking directly into his eyes because he may be a coward, but he did this to himself, and he needs to face the consequences now, and shame is one of them.

“I need water,” He says forcing himself to speak and swallowing heavily. His anxiety has lessened a bit, but he still feels dizzy and slightly nauseous. “And something to kill myself with,” he adds as Joly turns quickly to get it for him.

This causes Joly to turn right back around and stare at him. “Don't say that.”

Grantaire shrinks back a bit, putting his hands up slightly in a sign of apology. He knows his comment was out of line, but he's not actually feeling suicidal. Which is not a shock to him, since he knew what he was signing up for when he decided to stop drinking, and he hasn't felt that way for a very long time. But he can see why Joly would be worried.

“I'm fine, Joly,” He assures, maintaining eye contact with him. “Seriously.”

Joly nods, turning back around and rushing from the room to get him water. Unfortunately, he's gone just long enough for Grantaire to work himself into a slight panic, which turns into a large panic attack as he's being moved from the bathroom to his bedroom after finally managing to tell Joly that he wanted to lay down.

He feels like an idiot, having to call on someone else just to get him to bed and he can't believe that he's let his life become this. His entire body is aching now and he's entirely exhausted.  _It's no wonder Enjolras doesn't like you_ . The thought hits him like a train and he wishes that he had more control over the things that he's thinking because this is the last thing he wanted to be thinking about while going through this but now that the thought is there it's not going anywhere.

“He's never going to love me,” Grantaire says quietly, mostly to himself, burying his face in his hands to hide his tears. He's so pathetic. “I'm fucking pathetic.”

“Don't you fucking dare,” Joly says suddenly, surprising him with the force of his words and his cursing. “Don't say that about yourself, R.” His hands are pulled away from his face with a gentleness that contrasts entirely the tone of voice Joly is using. “You are _not_ pathetic. You're strong and brave and one of the most wonderful people I've ever had the absolute pleasure to know. You are so loved, R. If I called any of les amis right now and told them what you just said they would disagree. I'm here because I care about you, and I'm proud of you for doing this. We're _all_ proud of you. And that includes Enjolras. You are nothing short of amazing.”

Grantaire finds himself unable to respond, despite wanting to. He doesn't quite believe what Joly is saying, but there's so much sincerity in his voice that Grantaire can't even think of arguing with him. Not when he feels like his body is going to fall apart into pieces and his head is pounding. “I love him,” He says quietly, wrapping his arms around himself. He knows that he must look disgusting, he certainly feels it as he beings to cry. He's cried more than he thinks he ever has in his life in the past two days and he's never hated himself more.

Joly's arms wrap around him and he leans into the touch desperately. He needs someone else to help hold him together. “I just want to feel better.”

“You're going to,” Joly reassures, rubbing his back softly. “It's going to take time, but I promise you you're going to feel better, R.”

“This is so hard,” He admits. He doesn't want to admit it, but he's learned that admitting things is just a step in getting better, so he's jumping that hurdle for his own sake. “I fucking hate this. I hate myself for being like this.” It feels strange, to talk about his problems while sober. There's no haze of alcohol to protect him from the reality of what he's saying. There's nothing to blame for what comes out of his mouth. There's nothing to fall back on once the words have escaped his mouth. He can't ramble drunkenly after saying something so serious. He can only deal with what he's said and the reaction to it. The consequences of his words are much more frightening when he has to deal with them so soon after speaking.

“Grantaire, this isn't your fault.” Joly's arms tighten around him. “You're so brave for doing this, and I know it must hurt so much for you to be like this, but you're doing so well. You're incredible, R, truly amazing. This isn't going to last forever and you're going to feel so much better when it's all over. You just have to make it through. I know you can do that.”

Grantaire doesn't say anything, gripping the fabric of Joly's shirt to try and ground himself.

“Here,” Joly moves him onto the bed more, tilting him away slightly. “You need to lay down.”

Grantaire lays down without struggle, still crying. He just wants to sleep until he doesn't hurt anymore. Until he doesn't have the urge clawing inside of him to drown himself in liquor, until his anxiety isn't speeding up his heart and his sadness isn't consuming him entirely. He would rather be anyone in the world than himself in that moment.

“Drink this, OK?”

He sits up partially, taking the glass from Joly with a shaky hand. It's the water he'd asked for earlier. It now seems entirely unappealing, but he drinks some of it anyways, not wanting to let Joly down. It feels wrong in some way, drinking something so often that doesn't burn in his throat and warm his chest and stomach as it settles. He's only had water to drink for the entirety of the three days he's been sober and it feels like poison to him.

“Lay back down. I'm gonna put this ice on your head, it'll help your headache while you sleep.” Joly takes the glass back from him and he feels a bit dazed. He can't properly focus on Joly's face, but he can hear the concern in his voice.

“Joly,” He says, eyes closed. He can feel exhaustion taking him over. He feels the ice press against his head and he hisses slightly.

“Yes?” Joly's voice is soft and concerned, as it had been before.

“Thank you.”

He's asleep before he can hear Joly's reply of, “Anything for you, R.”

–

_Bahorel_

Day 5

–

Bahorel is expecting a few things when he gets home. He's expecting Grantaire to be either cranky, or horribly sickly, either of which he's entirely prepared to deal with. He's also expecting to be able to go to sleep relatively quickly after arriving home, because his job is starting to take its toll on him. What he's absolutely not expecting, is to walk into the kitchen after calling out for Grantaire to find him standing near the counter with a bottle of rum in his hand, about to take a drink.

“Fuck,” Bahorel says, rushing forward and grabbing Grantaire's wrist quickly. “Fuck, Grantaire what the fuck are you doing!?”

The bottle is almost to Grantaire's lips when Bahorel pulls his arm away harshly, managing to knock it entirely out of his hand. It falls to the floor, smashing on the tile. Bahorel winces slightly but grabs Grantiare's other arm quickly and pulling him so that they're face to face. He's in slight shock, staring with wide eyes at his best friend.

“Grantaire, shit,” He says, looking at his friend. His eyes are red and glassy and Bahorel's heart almost stops beating. “Please tell me you didn't drink anything.”

Grantaire simply stares at him, eyes cloudy. Bahorel doesn't smell any alcohol coming from his clothes and he thanks god that he came home when he did. He knew that he should trust his bad feeling.

“Answer me!” He nearly yells, panicking slightly because he's never going to forgive himself if he left Grantaire alone and he managed to get drunk. He wants to let go of Grantaire's arms but he's scared of what kind of reaction he might have.

“That's such a waste of alcohol,” Grantaire finally replies, voice soft and downtrodden. His clothes are very askew on his body, only one of his pant legs being rolled up and his hoodie halfway off of one of his arms. Bahorel is both confused and scared in equal amounts. He has no idea what he's supposed to be looking for as far as symptoms of alcohol withdrawal go, and he also doesn't know if Grantaire is drunk or simply a wreck. “I could've drank that.”

“Fucking,” Bahorel shakes him slightly because he's frustrated and not thinking clearly and Grantaire isn't giving him anything to work with and he's not that great at handling his anger anyways. He can practically feel his blood pressure rising. “Damnit Grantaire, did you drink anything?”

“I was going to,” he replies pointedly, as if he's completely forgotten that he's stopped drinking. His eyes are completely unfocused and Bahorel “But you ruined that.”

“Grantiare, you-” he stops, loosening his grip on him a little bit. “You stopped drinking.”

“I need it.” Grantaire looks like he's going to cry at any moment and _fuck_ Bahorel is not prepared for this situation at all. “I need to be drunk. I've been dying every day that I don't and I can't do this anymore,” He shakes loose of Bahorel's grip, but Bahorel doesn't fight for it back just yet. He can feel the anger that's suddenly beginning to consume Grantaire as his voice begins to get louder. “I don't care about being sober.” He grabs at his own hair, his voice rising in volume still. Bahorel's phone is in his hand in an instant, ready to call for back up because he knows exactly what's about to happen. He's seen Grantaire like this only a few times, but he knows its not going to be good. “I don't care about anything!” He's screaming now, voice raw and uncertain and uncontrollable. “I would rather be dead than dealing with this!” His eyes are darting around wildly and Bahorel has honestly never seen anyone look this crazy before and he's very scared for his best friend. He texts Jehan and Combeferre both, simply saying '911' and praying that they understand. He knows Jehan can handle Grantaire's emotional distress and Combeferre won't be angry at him if he happens to wake him up at whatever time it is. “I don't fucking care! I need to be drunk!” His voice is cracking and Bahorel could cry at how incredibly broken and hurt he sounds. “Everything is too real for me. I don't want it to be real. I can't stop shaking and sweating and crying and I need to not be so real. I need to be drunk. I need it,” He begins repeating it over and over and over again, voice growing slowly softer until he's almost whispering, and as soon as Bahorel tries to approach him, he's promptly punched directly in the nose. 

“Ah, fuck,” He yells, covering his nose for a moment before realizing that Grantaire is going towards where he keeps his alcohol. He quickly rushes towards him, ignoring the pain in his nose and the blood that's on his hand. “Grantaire, no!” He shouts, grabbing his arm again and this time pulling it behind his back.

Grantaire struggles, but he's off balance, and Bahorel still has no idea if he made it back in time to stop Grantaire from relapsing or not.

“Let me go!” Grantaire yells, trying desperately to push him off. “Please, just one more drink that's all I need!”

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with you, fuck,” Bahorel says, grabbing his other arm and attempting to bring them together behind his back. Everything is clumsy and Bahorel has no idea what he's doing. All he knows is that he _cannot_ let Grantaire go until someone else gets there. “I don't know how to deal with this, _please_ , R, calm _down.”_ He's honestly on the verge of tears and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do. He doesn't know how to calm people down. 

“I don't need to calm down!” Bahorel is glad that he's so much stronger than Grantaire when he tries to pull his arms away. They both move forward with the force of it, but it's not enough to make him lose his grip and Grantaire simply ends up running into the counter with his stomach and hissing in pain slightly. “I need to drink.”

“Jesus fucking-” He pulls Grantaire away from the counter, suddenly realizing that he's dripping blood on both of them, and that Grantaire isn't wearing socks or shoes and there's broken glass everywhere and rum covering the floor. “Jehan and Combeferre are going to be here soon, R. Do you want Jehan to see you like this?” It's a low blow, he knows it, but he's desperate. He can only hope they understood his text and are on their way.

“You-” Grantaire pauses for a moment as if he's realized something. “You called Jehan.”

“Yes, Grantaire,” Bahorel says slowly, unsure of where this is going. “I called Combeferre too because you're fucking scaring me and I can't handle this on my own.”

“I'm not going to get a drink am I?”

Bahorel almost laughs, but he stops himself. “No, R, you're absolutely not going to get a drink.”

Grantaire sags beneath him, and Bahorel assumes he's accepted defeat. Bahorel uses his grip on his wrists to turn him around, letting go of them and grabbing his shoulders when they're almost facing each other.

“Why?”

He looks so heartbroken that the only thing that Bahorel can do is pull him into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist and pressing his lips to his temple like he always does. “Because I love you and I care about you and I'm not gonna let you do that to yourself. You're doing so good, R.”

“Fuck you,” Grantaire says, before beginning to sob helplessly into his shirt. He repeats it louder through his sobs and Bahorel only holds onto him tighter, unable to think of anything to say. His nose is still bleeding, but he doesn't care at all, and Grantaire is so lost that all he cares about is being drunk. “I'm never going to paint again. Nothing is beautiful anymore.”

Bahorel freezes. He wonders how long Grantaire has been thinking about painting. He had seen a few tubes out yesterday when he'd checked in on him, but no canvas anywhere that he could see. He's about to ask if that's what this whole thing is about, when hears the front door being opened and the unmistakable sounds of someone running towards the kitchen.

“Christ!” Combeferre exclaims as he enters the room, and Bahorel looks up at him, pleading with his eyes that he be calm and quiet because Grantaire is still sobbing into his shirt.

Combeferre looks back at him, silently questioning him as Jehan enters the room shortly after him. They're out of breath, eyes wide with shock.

“Oh, gosh,” They say, looking around. “Oh gosh.” They rush forward, carefully stepping over and around the broken glass and spilled rum. “Are you OK?”

They carefully pull Grantaire away from Bahorel and he sighs in relief. Jehan is so much better at handling emotional situations like this. Jehan wraps their arm around Grantaire's waist gently, leading him from the room while he continues to cry, making gently shushing and soothing noises while they walk. Bahorel watches them go, wishing that he could do more to help, but knowing he'll be more help in the morning when Grantaire is regretting his actions. 

“What the hell happened?” Combeferre asks, looking from his nose to the floor where the remnants of the bottle lay. Guilt lays itself in Bahorel's stomach as he sees that Combeferre is wearing pyjama pants and a tshirt, and his hair is un-styled and rumpled. His glasses are slightly askew on his face and his eyebrows are a bit higher than normal in concern. “Is Grantaire alright? Does your nose hurt?”

“I'm not entirely sure,” Bahorel answers, stepping over the glass and towards him. “I think Grantaire is OK, but I'm not sure whether or not I got here in time to stop him from having a drink. And yes, it hurts like hell, Grantaire punched me.” He pauses for a second, pulling his lips away from his teeth slightly in worry. “Did I wake you up?”

Combeferre nods, gesturing for him to sit down. “Let me look at your nose.” Bahorel is envious of his ability to keep entirely calm in most situations that aren't life threatening.

“Sorry,” he says sitting down at the small kitchen table that's set up near the wall closest to the opening to the living room. “I just came home and he had the bottle in his hand, about to drink from it,” Bahorel begins to explain as Combeferre quickly grabs and wets a paper towel, bringing it back over to him. Bahorel sighs, tilting his head back slightly so Combeferre can look at it. “So I grabbed him, but he dropped the bottle and he was a little off balance already and I asked him a bunch of times if he was drunk but he didn't answer. And then he got really sad for a minute and then he just-” He grits his teeth, cutting himself off as Combeferre touches part of his nose gently. The water is cold, but it feels nice against his heated skin.

“Sorry,” Combeferre apologizes, giving him a small smile. He continues to carefully wipe at the blood that is now covering almost the entire bottom half of Bahorel's face. He's very used to Combeferre hovering over him and inspecting his wounds by now. He's used to the same from Joly, but Joly talks and frets much more than Combeferre.

“He got really angry, when I told him that he stopped drinking. It's like he forgot that he stopped. He kept telling me that he didn't care and that he needed to be drunk and that's when I texted you, and then right after that, he punched me as hard as he could I'm pretty sure. He started going towards the liquor cabinet so I grabbed him and I was holding him and he was yelling about how he needed a drink and I told him no. I think he realized that he wasn't going to get one because after a while he stopped and I turned him around and he just, kind of stared at me and asked my why he couldn't have a drink and started crying. I just told him that I loved him and that it was for his best that he couldn't have a drink and he,” Bahorel pauses, thinking about what he's about to say for a moment. “he said that he's never gonna paint again because nothing is beautiful anymore.'”

Combeferre stops what he's doing for a moment, looking at him. “Really?” His voice is tenser than it had been, but still soft.

“Yes,” Bahorel nods very slightly. “I think that's what started this whole thing. I think he tried to paint something but he wasn't inspired or it didn't turn out right or something.”

Combeferre sighs deeply, discarding the paper towel he had been using which is now covered in blood. “He's been thinking about Enjolras again, too.”

Bahorel shakes his head, hissing when it causes his nose to twinge slightly. He, along with pretty much everyone in their group aside from Enjolras, knows that Grantaire is in love with Enjolras. He's never understood how he could love someone who's constantly insulting him and putting him down and even making him cry on more than one occasion, but he knows better than to question it.

“I wish he would get his shit together.” Combeferre leans over him again, instructing him to tilt his head back as he clarifies, “I mean Enjolras, not Grantaire.”

“I assumed.” Combeferre touches his nose, causing him to yelp slightly. There's a dull ache that's pulsating in his entire nose and the surrounding area, but he's had his nose broken enough times that he can just ignore it by now. “I don't think your nose is broken, but it's going to hurt for a while.” He gives Bahorel a sympathetic look, mouth twisting slightly.

“I've had worse.” Bahorel says in reply to Combeferre's look. “You've seen me at worse.”

“It's different when it's Grantaire punching you in the face and not some random guy at a bar, or a protest, or wherever you deem it worthy to start a fight.” 

Bahorel shrugs, “This isn't the first time he's punched me in the face. And probably not the last either. It'll be fine.” He cracks his knuckles, sighing. “How do we know he's been focusing on Enjolras?”

“When Joly came over last week to take care of him while things were really bad he said a few times that,” He uses air quotes as he talks, “'He's never going to love me.'”

Bahorel can't help but roll his eyes. “I don't know what the fuck he sees in him. He's always insulting him and being an asshole about everything when it comes to him. I don't understand how you could love someone like that. It's borderline abusive.”

“You're putting Enjolras into more of a box than I'm comfortable with.” Combeferre sits down next to him, handing him a glass of water that Bahorel hadn't even noticed him preparing.

“He cares about changing the stupid world more than he does about his friends.” Bahorel snorts.

“If you really believed that, you wouldn't come to the meetings.” Bahorel sighs, turning to look at Combeferre as he speaks. “Enjolras cares about all of us. Without us, what exactly would he be? Sure he could find a new group of followers, but honestly, he's never going to find another Courfeyrac, another Jehan, another Grantaire, another you, even. Enjolras is bad with emotions. He keeps them inside of himself and hardly ever shares them unless he feels like he needs to for some reason. And when he does express them, he's honestly quite bad at it. You remember when I broke my arm at a protest last year and he told me that I was the stupidest person that he'd ever known?” Bahorel nods. They'd all been there for Enjolras' lecture on safety and how stupid some of them had been. He takes a drink from the glass that's next to him. “Obviously, he doesn't really think that, or I wouldn't be invited to his meetings, or his best friend. He was concerned for me, scared even. He says a lot of things that he doesn't mean like they sound when he's like that. When he called me stupid, he just wanted me to be more careful. He just wanted me to pay attention more, perhaps. He didn't mean to insult me, and I'm perfectly aware of that. Not everyone is though. Grantaire, obviously isn't, and it's not my place to explain Enjolras to him. But understand that Enjolras is not always malicious, although he certainly can be. I will admit that there were times when I couldn't believe Enjolras would say something like that to anyone, but not everything he says is with bad intent.”

Bahorel takes a moment to process the information. He'd never really thought of it that way, but he still has doubts. He figures its because of the amount of times he's watched Grantaire cry over him. There's a silence that lasts for a few minutes between them, before Jehan re-enters the room, looking a bit more disheveled than before.

“He's asleep,” They says, wiping their hands on their shirt. They're wearing black leggings and knee high blue socks with a deep green t-shirt and a black hoodie. Bahorel is shocked by how much they match. He's also shocked by the bruise on Jehan's face, right underneath of their left cheek bone. It's rather dark, and stretching in an odd way down to their jawline. He thinks about asking about it, but he doesn't want to be rude.

“Your clothes match,” Bahorel points out instead, smiling. Jehan is notorious amongst les amis for never matching anything that they wear. Sometimes Bahorel wonders if they do it on purpose.

“Just for you,” Jehan jokes, but their cheeks flush slightly anyways and Bahorel has a strong surge of satisfaction as they move towards him to sit down. “How are you?”

“He didn't manage to break my nose, so I guess it's all good.” Bahorel leans back a bit on instinct, leaving his lap open. Just as he suspected, Jehan sits down on his legs, facing Combeferre. He wraps his arms around their waist, resting his chin on their shoulder. They've been sitting like this for longer than Bahorel can even remember, and he loves the warmth and weight of Jehan on his lap. He's never managed to work up the courage to question why Jehan always sits on his lap, preferring to just let things progress as they will.

“How was he?” Combeferre asks, leaning forward.

Jehan's small smile disappears and they grimace. “Not good at all,” They reply, sighing. “He told me that he doesn't think anything is beautiful anymore and that he's sad about it. I think he might have been hallucinating a little bit because I asked him why he wanted a drink when he stopped drinking and he told me that he didn't stop drinking and he asked what I was talking about.” They glance at Combeferre uncertainly. 

“He may have convinced himself that he didn't stop drinking in order to ease the guilt of getting drunk again,” Combeferre says, “Or, you could be right. He might be somewhat delusional with pain, emotional or physical. It's common for alcoholics to experience points in time where they forgot or convince themselves that they didn't stop drinking or that one drink would be fine.”

Jehan nods their understanding, continuing with their story. “I told him that there are lots of beautiful things and I started to tell him about things that are beautiful and he just kept shooting me down.”

Bahorel shakes his head, clenching his fists very slightly. Grantaire is normally the first person to find the beauty in things that aren't generally considered beautiful. He's one of the most optimistic people Bahorel knows when it comes to the of inanimate objects or animals. Humans outside of his friends have always been a different story though.

“I had to start talking about you guys to get him to stop. He didn't argue when I started talking about how Joly manages to always ask how everyone is every meeting and so I just kept going with quirks and stuff from everyone in the group and I think he just cried himself out. But I asked him if he drank anything and he said no.”

“Thank God,” Bahorel says, reaching around Jehan to grab his water off of the table and downing the rest of the it. He's so relieved that he almost feels lightheaded. He looks at the glass that's covering the floor for a moment before sighing and patting Jehan's side lightly to signal that he wants to stand. Jehan understands easily, standing and moving to sit down at the other empty chair next to the one Bahorel is sitting in. He stands after them, walking over to the sink to grab a rag so he can pick up the larger pieces and mop up some of the rum. It's beginning to make the whole room smell. “I'm sorry for forcing you guys to come over so late, I just knew I couldn't handle this on my own.”

“No need to apologize,” Combeferre stands up as well. “But if you don't need anything else, I do need to get some sleep. I have class in the morning.”

“No, yeah, go,” Bahorel says quickly. “I can clean this up.”

Combeferre puts a hand on his arm, and Bahorel has to look up at him. “Keep ice on your nose for a few hours and it won't hurt as much.”

“Will do boss.” Jehan giggles lightly from where they're still seated. Combeferre simply smiles good naturedly at him before turning and nodding at Jehan, who touches his hand gently as he leaves.

Bahorel stares at Jehan, who blushes when they notice his gaze. “Going home as well?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Don't think that going back to Feuilly's this late at night is very safe,” they reply, touching their lips thoughtfully. “It was dangerous enough to get here. I had to run.”

“You're staying with Feuilly?” Bahorel's eyebrows pull together. He tries not to be a jealous person, but everything seems harder when it comes to Jehan. “Why?”

“Jealous?” Jehan teases, raising an eyebrow back at him. Bahorel just squints at him suspiciously, unwilling to admit that yes, he is very jealous. “I was just staying the night. We had some things to discuss and our talk took a lot longer than expected.”

“Oh,” Bahorel draws out the vowel sound, grinning. “Well that's just scandalous, Prouvaire. I didn't think you had it in you.”

Jehan blushes. “Oh gosh, be quiet, Bahorel. You know the Feuilly is obsessed with that Floreal girl anyhow.” They're smiling while they say it and Bahorel can't deny that his heart swells slightly. He ignores the feeling, trying to push it around. He'll talk to Jehan about his feelings when they don't have a million other peoples' to worry about.

He simply smirks in reply, winking before bending down to begin cleaning.

“I'm glad you texted us,” Jehan says, standing up as Bahorel bends. “Where's your mop?”

Bahorel tells him where to find it without looking up. He sees his boots leaving the room and returning a few moments later out of the corner of his eye. 

“You're much better with emotions and things like that,” Bahorel explains, carefully picking up the largest pieces of glass and placing them in the rag. “And Combeferre is honestly just a fucking relaxing dude. I figured you'd be the best options. I thought about Joly but I thought he might bring Bossuet and 'chetta and I don't think Grantaire really needs them around just yet, ya know?”

“Yeah,” Jehan says softly. “That makes sense. As much as Grantaire loves Bossuet and vice versa, we don't need him tripping and getting glass in his hands or something at a time like this.”

Bahorel nods his agreement, throwing away the largest pieces of glass as Jehan mops up the spill, avoiding as many small but still visible pieces of glasses as he can.

“Are you going to stay here, or do you want me to walk you back to Feuilly's?” Bahorel asks when they've finished cleaning everything. The kitchen still smells like rum, but Bahorel will worry about that in the morning. He's tired and has to get up early. They've moved into the living room, where Jehan is taking off their shoes. It's kind of a pointless question, as Bahorel can see that Jehan is getting ready to stay.

“I think it'd be easier to stay here, if that's OK?” Jehan asks in reply, pausing in the middle of untying their boot and clutching the sleeves of their hoodie tightly.

“Jehan,” Bahorel says seriously, turning to face them fully. “You're always welcome here. You know that.”

Jehan nods, going back to untying their shoe. “Thank you.”

“Did Grantaire hit you?” Bahorel blurts before he can stop himself, staring at the bruise on Jehan's cheek. He breaths in sharply after asking the question, closing his eyes momentarily. He wants to know the answer and he hates being nosy in equal parts.

“Oh gosh, no,” Jehan says quickly, straightening out and looking worried. “Not at all.”

Bahorel cocks his head to the side, a small bud of worry blossoming inside of him. “Then what happened?”

Jehan looks around uncomfortably, rubbing one of his arms. They're avoiding looking directly at Bahorel. “Oh,” They falter. “It's nothing.”

Their smile is tight and Bahorel frowns at them, moving towards them carefully. “Are you OK?”

“Yes!” Jehan replies too quickly, blushing a sort of rose color. “Yes, I'm fine.”

“Jehan.” Bahorel's voice is as serious as he can manage to make it. “What happened to your face? Did someone hit you?”

Jehan's face flushes, and they begin rubbing of their arms nervously. Worry fills Bahorel and he begins to try and figure out when Jehan would've gotten the bruise. He'd seen Jehan yesterday on his way home from the store and he hadn't had it then. So that leaves today, and the only person he knows that Jehan has been with today is Feuilly.

“Did _Feuilly_ hit you, because I swear to god I'll kick his ass,” Bahorel begins speaking quickly, stepping even closer to them. His heartrate spikes because he never would even consider Feuilly the type of person to hit someone who didn't deserve it. He's close enough to touch them now, so he does. He puts a hand on their arm gently, taking a final step towards them so that they're almost toe to toe. 

“No!” Jehan looks stricken as they finally look up at Bahorel and that eases his worry slightly. “No, nothing like that honestly.” They pause, dropping their arms and sighing in defeat and looking down. “I tripped this morning, over the cord of my curler, and I hit my face on the counter.”

Bahorel can barely hold in his laughter at the color of red Jehan has turned. “Oh my god.” He snorts, pressing his lips together to stifle his laughter. He pulls his hand away from Jehan so that he can use it to cover his mouth to stifle his laughter. “And here I was worried I was going to have to kill someone.”

Jehan blushes a shade darker and once again Bahorel's heart swells. He smiles widely, removing his hand from his mouth. He knows how much Jehan hates being embarrassed, so he decides to have mercy on him. “Let's get to sleep,” he says, changing the topic so that Jehan doesn't have to stay embarrassed. “You'll freeze out here on the couch, so you can just share the bed with me.”

Jehan's eyes widen, and they looks like they're going to protest, but Bahorel smiles again and Jehan doesn't say anything, simply nodding at him.

For a moment, neither of them think about the chaos they're going to have to deal with in the morning.

–

_Grantaire_

Day 14

–

“Grantaire!”

Grantaire turns quickly to find Enjolras hurrying behind him to catch up to him. The meeting of the week has just ended, and Grantaire is entirely too tired to do anything but go home and go to sleep. The rest of his friends are lingering outside, talking and laughing together and he almost wishes he could join them, but he's tired, and its cold outside. This is the first social thing he's done since he stopped drinking two weeks ago, having missed the last meeting, and his body is aching very slightly and he longs for a drink to stop the small trembling in his hands.

Enjolras never talks to him after meetings unless he's yelling, giving him orders, or lecturing him about his life choices and how they affect the group. Grantaire can't help but sigh a little as he looks at Enjolras because honestly, no one should be allowed to look that good while frazzled and in a hurry.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire replies, nodding stiffly when he finally catches up. He's not sure how to speak to Enjolras without being an asshole, which should be easier for him, since he practically worships the ground that Enjolras walks on. They begin walking together and Grantaire can already feel his heart beat picking up a little bit, as it always does when he's around him. “What do you need?”

Having Enjolras this close to him is not something that he's used to, although he does quite enjoy it. He quite enjoys Enjolras, in fact, but Enjolras never needs to know that small bit of information. It's odd being near Enjolras without his normal haze of alcohol. Now he can't just say whatever comes to mind, because he has no excuse to do so.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Enjolras, looking at him as best as he can while walking.

Grantaire glances at him suspiciously. “Go on then.” Enjolras seems different somehow and Grantaire can't figure out what it is that's changed. It's a bit unnerving.

“Grantaire,” He says his name again as he stops walking. Grantaire also stops, turning around to look at him. “I, uh.”

Grantaire's eyebrows scrunch. He's never seen Enjolras trip over his words. Enjolras is looking directly into his eyes as he stops speaking. Grantaire swears he feels his heart stop beating as he looks at Enjolras because he's rarely this close to him and he's beautiful, with his hair falling messily out of the elastic it had been tied in earlier. His deep blue sweater is slightly too big on him and it covers his hands in a way that shouldn't be as cute as Grantaire is finding it. He seems as lost his train of thought and Grantaire is a bit startled by the realization that _he's nervous,_ which is new _._ Grantaire shuffles a bit in discomfort as the silence and prolonged eye contact increase in duration and waves his hand in a go on motion. 

“Right, sorry,” Enjolras says, pulling himself from whatever trance he'd put himself into. “I just wanted to apologize, for uh, how I've treated you in the past. I know that you've had a hard life and I shouldn't have been so cruel without an understanding as to who you truly are.”

Grantaire can't help but snort, despite his shock. Enjolras has never even had a real conversation with Enjolras until now. Sure, they've talked. There's no way they can't with their friend group being exactly the same people for most of the time. But none of their conversations have ever meant anything, or been about anything other than work or someone in their group, and as much as he'd like to just except the apology and go home to sleep, he can't. Not when he knows it means nothing but Enjolras saving his own skin for his own sake. He may hate himself, but he's never been one to be walked on. He also doesn't want Enjolras to get some sort of impression that without alcohol he's going to have some of revelation and believe everything that Enjolras says. Even underneath of his alcoholic mask, he's a cynic at heart.

“Right,” He says, drawing out the 'i' sound. “And who am I truly, Enjolras?” He asks, crossing his arms. He can already feel himself getting angry, despite his best attempts at controlling it.

“Well, I-”

“Well, nothing,” Grantaire interrupts, quite rudely he's aware, but he won't put up with this. “You've never had a real conversation with me, ever, aside from this one. You hate me Enjolras. You can't say that you suddenly know who the real me is a few weeks after I start running dry. It doesn't work like that. You can't just be my friend because I'm no longer an alcoholic asshole, because I hate to break it you, but I'm an asshole even without the alcohol.” He feels more clear headed than he has all week and he wonders briefly if its because of Enjolras or his annoyance.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says, completely taken aback. “This has nothing to do with whether or not you drink and I'm a bit appalled that you would accuse me of-”

“I've already heard enough of this,” Grantaire says turning around. His head aches already. “I'm not listening to you justify every mean thing you've ever said to me about my drinking with some weird self-righteous bullshit.” He begins to walk away, not wanting to deal with this conversation right now. He's far too sober to handle this situation with the correct amount of wit and sarcasm to cover his anger.

“I'm trying to apologize!” Enjolras cries, clearly outraged at Grantaire's continual interrupting.

“That's going really well for you,” Grantaire replies, not turning around to look at him. “isn't it?”

“Are you seriously angry at me for saying _sorry_?” He hears footsteps hurrying behind him. The incredulous tone in his voice would make him laugh any other time, but now it's only serving to make him angrier. 

“Yes, and you can go fuck yourself,” he says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he walks.

“R,” Enjolras grabs his arm and he freezes. “I'm sorry.” He sounds so confused that Grantaire almost feels bad for the way that he's acting.

Grantaire turns to look at him, taking a deep breath to try and control himself a bit more. “If you were really sorry this conversation would've happened a long time ago.” He attempts to move away but Enjolras' grip on him tightens a bit and he doesn't know what to do because he can't move away from it. “And you wouldn't have said the things you did.” He speaks with his teeth halfway clenched, frustrated by the fact that Enjolras is managing to hold him in place and not wanting to start a physical fight with him.

“I apologize, R,” Enjolras says again, moving around so that they're face to face, finally letting go of Grantaire's arm. He's now said he's sorry three different ways and Grantaire is beginning to wonder how many more ways he can find as he unclenches his teeth with some difficulty. He can't help but notice how tired he looks. There are bags under his eyes that are worse than normal and his face is pale. “I just have trouble controlling what I'm saying when I'm worried.”

Grantaire twitches his neck in surprise at this. He can't help but look helplessly confused for a moment before trying to come up with a response. He can't think of a single thing that he's said could make Enjolras not hate him. They hadn't argued this meeting, but that was hardly grounds for anything since it was because of Grantaire's current lack of alcohol and not because they had suddenly become friends. He wonders if he's part of some large cosmic prank.

“You're...worried,” Grantaire says slowly, trying to comprehend what's going on. “About... me?” He puts more emphasis on the word me than what is probably necessary, but he wants Enjolras to know how surprised he is.

Even more to Grantaire's surprise, Enjolras blushes at his words, dropping his hand from where it was still placed on Grantaire's arm. The blush isn't deep, barely coloring his cheeks, but it's there, and now he's really confused. He makes somewhat of a show of looking around him as if he's going to find someone filming this whole conversation. He's only mildly surprised when he doesn't find anyone except for a few of their friends far behind them outside of the Musain.

“Of course I am,” he says sincerely, in a way that Grantaire has only seen him talk a few times before. He's both exhilarated and exasperated. “We're friends.”

Grantaire feels like his heart is breaking and soaring at the same time. His head is practically spinning in confusion and he's not even sure he's awake.

“No we're not,” Grantaire says, shaking his head vehemently and laughing in disbelief. “I don't know what kind of game you're trying to play here, but I'd appreciate it if you'd stop doing this.”

In all honesty, he's growing tired of whatever the hell Enjolras is trying to do the longer they talk and despite how much he wishes that he could believe that he's apologizing for any other reason than soothing his own ego, he can't. No matter how much he loves him, he knows him too well to believe this.

“What do you mean?” Grantaire can see that he's taken aback by his reaction and he can't help his feeling of satisfaction.

“We're not _friends_ , Enjolras,” he says clearly, trying to finally get his point across so that their conversation can end and he can finally go home. He gestures between them as he talks. “You _hate_ me. Or did you forget about that?” 

Enjolras looks at him as if he's just slapped him. “I do  _ not _ hate you Grantaire. Why would you think that? I wouldn't be apologizing if I hated you.” 

Grantaire gives him an incredulous look. He has no idea what's going on but he just wants whatever it is to stop. His heart can't handle it. “You've literally once told me to go to an A.A meeting instead of one of our activist meetings. I'm sorry if I misconstrued your intentions with that one.”

“I... I apologized for that.” Enjolras' face is scrunched and Grantaire can't help but laugh at his obliviousness.

“It doesn't matter,” Grantaire spits, humor missing from his voice, despite his previous laughter. “You apologized after you realized no one would like you or listen to you if you didn't. And that's not the first time you've done that either, or the last.”

Enjolras' lips are parted in surprise, eyes trained on Grantaire's face. “I didn't mean- I wasn't trying to... Grantaire,” He stumbles over his words before finally settling on just Grantaire's name, blinking slowly.

There's something about the way that Enjolras says his name that makes him pause, staring straight into his eyes. He sounds desperate, like he needs Grantaire to understand something, but he ignores it, writing it off as his lack of alcohol. He sighs, unable to hold in his thoughts any longer.

“Why do you think you know me, Enjolras?” He shakes his head in confusion, hardly able to process what he's thinking into words. “Did you talk to Jehan? Did he tell you about my past?” He turns around, sarcasm dripping from his words. He's always been good at covering his emotions with sarcasm. “Did he tell you my dad used to hit me?” _Well,_ he thinks, _no point in holding back now_. “That I was homeless for years until Bahorel took me in? That I have anxiety? Did you do some research on me like I'm some charity case for les amis just so you could apologize to me? Did you interview everyone to see what I was 'really like' after I quit drinking?” He waits for a response but Enjolras seems too surprised to answer. “You don't know a damn thing about me Enjolras. You've always hated me for drinking. Now that I don't drink, you have nothing to justify your hatred and you're trying to get on my good side now so that you don't look like an asshole. I'm not gonna let you do that to me.”

He almost immediately regrets telling Enjolras all of that, but it's too late to take it back now, and Enjolras looks like he's been stunned into submission, so Grantaire turns to leave before he can pull himself back together enough to reply.

When Grantaire walks away this time, Enjolras doesn't follow. Grantaire doesn't know if he's glad or disappointed.

–

_Enjolras_

Day 16

–

Enjolras rings the doorbell, sighing and running his fingers through his hair in frustration. It's been two days since his failed attempt at apologizing to Grantaire and he can't get it out of his head. He knows is apology was a bit lacking, but he hadn’t expected a reaction like that. And if he was being honest with himself, it hurt. Despite what Grantaire, or anyone, might think of him, he’s never hated Grantaire, and he’s never hated anyone based on how much alcohol they consume on a regular basis. He cares about Grantaire and his well being a lot, in fact. He just has no idea how to tell him that properly. And maybe Grantaire had been right in a few of the things that he’d said, but in all reality, he finds Grantaire very smart and very funny and he just wants to be able to talk to him without feeling like a fight is going to start at any second. He also can't believe that Grantaire had told him such personal information, and he feels guilty for knowing it simply because he made Grantaire angry enough to say it.

“Enj?” Jehan answers the door, giving him a look. “Are you OK?” 

“I tried to apologize like you told me to and he yelled at me,” Enjolras replies as Jehan lets him inside.

Jehan nods with their eyes slightly widened in understanding and a look of not being surprised at all. Their lips are slightly pulled down as well. “What did you say to him? When did this happen?” They follows him inside, sitting down next to Enjolras where he’s plopped himself down on the couch and crossed his arms huffily. Their bright pink sweater is almost entirely off of their right shoulder and their lime green tights are contrasting horribly with his dark gray socks. For once, their hair is laying messy and unbraided.

“All I did was tell him that I misjudged him and that I was sorry.” Enjolras decides that relaying his entire apology is a bit too much. “And two days ago.”

“And his response was?”

“He called me a self righteous asshole,” Enjolras laughs humorlessly, sighing afterwards.

Jehan gives him a look, raising their eyebrows and tilting their head to the side slightly as if they don't believe him entirely. Enjolras sighs, closing his eyes. He was hoping to avoid bringing up the other things he had said, but with Jehan, it's impossible to lie.

“I may have also misspoken and said that I know who he truly is now.” Seeing the look on Jehan’s face he hurries to add, “But I didn’t mean it the way that it came out! And on top of that he thinks that I hate him because he used to drink and I was only apologizing to save my own ass.”

“So now you have idea what to do?” Jehan crosses their legs delicately, unlocking their phone.

Enjolras takes a moment to notice how nicely their nails are painted. Small flowers of some kind are covering all of them with a cream colored background. Normally they're painted some sort of bright color that doesn't match their outfit at all, so it's a large change.

“Exactly,” he says, reaching out to take one of their hands off of their phone. “Who did your nails?” He holds the hand up to his face, admiring the details of the small stems and leaves that are mixed with the flowers.

“Actually,” Jehan says with the smallest of smirks. “Grantaire did them yesterday. He does them quite often. He called me yesterday looking for something to do to take his mind off of things. He came over and spent an hour and half painting them. They’re really nice aren’t they?”

“They look incredible.” Enjolras’ shoulders slump slightly. There's so much that he doesn't know about Grantaire that he wishes he knew. He knows the kind of basic things that he knows about everyone he meets. He knows that he paints for a living and for school, and that he has a lot of friends outside of the group. He knows that he smokes and has some sort of history with other drugs. Outside of that, he knows nothing about the other man. “I wish I had known that about him. That he can paint nails as well, I mean.”

“There’s a lot that you probably don’t know about him,” Jehan replies unhelpfully, taking their hand back gently.

“Well, he thinks that I hate him, so that makes getting to know him a bit harder.” He shifts on the couch slightly, biting back his comment about already knowing that, thanks. “Can I put my head in your lap?”

Jehan nods, setting their phone down on he table. “Only if I can braid your hair.”

Enjolras nods back, moving to lie down so that his head is resting gently on their thigh. He loves when people play with his hair, and the longer it gets, the more he enjoys it. They began dragging their hands through his hair immediately, grabbing strands to begin braiding it. He hums in contentment, closing his eyes and folding his hands over his chest.

“I don’t hate him,” Enjolras says voice soft. “I never have. I never wanted to give him that impression.” He has no idea how he's supposed to convince Grantaire of that, but its the truth. 

“I know that,” Jehan says placatingly. “But you have to admit, you’ve said some stuff to him that would make anyone think that you hated them.”

“But I never meant them in malice! He’s just so frustrating! He was drinking his life away entirely. He has so much talent and so many good ideas, I can’t stand seeing him throw them away like that!” He puts his hands up in emphasis. “I just don’t know how to tell people that I care for them properly. I tried to tell him that what I said was out of worry and he said that I had no right to worry about him because we’re not friends.”

Out of everything that Grantaire had said, that had hurt the most. Despite their arguments and disagreements, he’s always at least considered them friends. To hear it come so plainly from Grantaire’s mouth that they weren’t, it had hurt more than just his ego.

“Oh gosh,” Jehan scratches their nails very lightly against Enjolras’ head. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it. Was he very angry when he said it?”

“No, although that was when most of his confusion turned to anger.” He decides he might as well just bite the bullet now. “He also said some things about his past that I don't think he really wanted me to know.”

Jehan inhales sharply, fingers pausing in his hair. “Like what?”

“Like that his father hit him and that he was homeless.” His bluntness is partially unintentional, but he also knows that sugar coating it isn't going to help the situation.

“Oh gosh.” Enjolras can practically feel Jehan biting their lip. They always uses that phrase when they're worried or they don't know what to do in a situation. It's entirely endearing and Enjolras has to hold back his smile for a moment. “That's not good at all.”

“I feel guilty that he told me out of anger instead of out of trust.” Enjolras says this quietly, almost unwilling to admit it. He knows that Jehan will be understanding and non judgmental more so than probably any one else in the group aside from Combeferre. “I didn't want him to tell me anything like that.”

“That makes sense. I can't believe he would say that.” Jehan tugs sharply on his hair, apologizing immediately after doing it to show that it wasn't intentional.

“He asked me if I had done research on him, or if I had talked to you to get information about him.” He closes his eyes in frustration and general exhaustion with the situation.

“Well, you kind of did.” Jehan's nails knick against his ear in a way that's neither unpleasant or pleasurable.

“Never that kind of information though! I just wanted to know how to approach him to apologize.” He sighs, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

“There's no way he could possibly know that.” Jehan's phone vibrates on the table but they ignore it.

“How did he know I talked to you in the first place?” Enjolras' voice rises in volume and he has to clench his teeth to stop himself from yelling. “ And he didn't give me any chance to explain he kept cutting me off. I just...” He runs his hand down his face dramatically. He can't think of any way to really make this better without Grantaire being angry at him again, which is why he's here in the first place. “I have no idea how to convince him that I'm not a horrible person who only cares about myself.”

“Grantaire absolutely does not think that about you, Enjolras.” Jehan pulls on his hair slightly. “He's very stressed right now and a lot of his anger at you probably came from his anger at himself. He's confused, and he's thought that you hated him for years. It's not really about you right now.”

“I know that,” Enjolras snaps. “Sorry, I'm just frustrated.”

Jehan doesn't respond, but he pats his head gently. He sighs, looking up at the ceiling. He knows that Grantaire doesn't like himself. They all do. They all try to help as much as they can, and Enjolras is sure that his words don't help at all, but he's always apologized. He's made it a point to say that he's sorry with as much sincerity that he can. He knows that he shouldn't lash out, but everything is so different when it comes to Grantaire. It's like he can't control what he's saying for some reason and he's somewhere between wanting to push Grantaire away and pull him as close as possible.

He'd never thought that he'd feel romantic feelings for anyone, let alone Grantaire, who doesn't seem to agree with him on anything when it comes to changing the world. He likes that about him though. He like being challenged in his beliefs. And Grantaire is funny, and creative in a way that Enjolras can't help but admire. His talents are so far reaching and spread out. He likes talking to Grantaire too, outside of their arguments, and despite what Grantaire says, he thinks they've had nice conversations. Grantaire never fails to make him laugh when he tells a joke and all Enjolras wants is to make him feel the same way. He's about to point that out to Jehan when his phone dings loudly in his pocket at the same time as Jehan’s vibrates on the table.

Jehan reaches over and grabs theirs with one hand as Enjolras pulls his from his pocket.

‘Everyone’s invited to me and Grantaires on Wednesday to celebrate 3 weeks sober. Obviously don’t bring any drinks or I’ll personally see to it that your ass gets beat before you step inside, but food is always welcome.’ There’s a smiley face at the end of Bahorel’s text message and it makes Enjolras snort.

“Looks like an opportunity to correct your mistakes has been made readily available.” Jehan taps out a reply quickly as they speak. “You’re going right?”

“Well, if I’m invited I don’t see why not,” Enjolras simply puts his phone back in his pocket, knowing that Jehan will repsonde for both of them. “And you’re right. It’ll be an opportunity to apologize again and possibly do it correctly.”

Jehan laughs setting their phone back down and grabbing his hair once again. “This time I’ll give you more advice than to just apologize, since you obviously need it.”

Enjolras smiles up at them. “Have I ever told you that you’re the best person in the entire world?”

“You could stand to say it more often,” They reply with a shrug, grinning.

Enjolras leans back more heavily into them, ready to absorb their advice.

“Alright, so …”

–

_Grantaire_

Day 21

–

Grantaire is sitting on his bed with his head in his hands when the doorbell rings for the first time. He’s more nervous than he was anticipating being and it’s taking a toll on him the longer that he sits in his room. It’s the first time he’s going to be around all of his friends completely sober outside of a meeting, and he’s scared to death that he won’t be the same as he was. He’s terrified that his friends aren’t going to like the mellow and possibly less funny Grantaire that he’s always been without alcohol. The more touchy and according to Bahorel, sweeter version of himself scares him more than he’ll probably ever admit to anyone that isn’t Eponine or Bahorel.

He stands when he hears the doorbell ring, grabbing his water bottle from where he’d placed it on his nightstand. He’d never thought he would drink so much water, but ever since he went dry, he’s been drinking at least three bottles a day. He takes a drink, sighing as he still wishes it were alcohol. He shakes the thought from his mind as quickly as it appears, instead focusing on figuring out who just came inside. He can only hear muffled voices, so he knows he’s going to have to leave his room in order to find out who’s there.

He steadies himself before opening his door and walking down the short hallway to the living room at what he thinks is a normal pace. His thoughts are whirling and he prays that it’s Jehan or Feuilly or someone that will immediately give him a hug.

As he turns the corner to the living room, his prayers are only halfway answered, since it is in fact Jehan who’s arrived, but Enjolras is standing behind him, talking to Bahorel. He tries not to focus on Enjolras as he enters the room, but it’s somewhat hard seeing as he’s got his hair in a French braid, that was no doubt done by Jehan judging by the fact that they have matching hairstyles, and he’s wearing a deep purple sweater that hangs off of his hands and falls almost to his mid-thighs, which are covered in black skinny jeans. All in all he looks incredible, and Grantaire can’t help but feel very self-conscious in his sweatpants that become tighter the closer they get to his ankles and simple black shirt with one of Bahorels’ old baseball hoodies.

Fortunately, Jehan is quick to distract him by practically jumping on top of him in their excitement to give him a hug. Jehan is dressed in their normal Jehan way, with light pink jeans and a dark blue and white floral cardigan over a black shirt. It's actually the most matching thing Grantaire has seen them wear in a while. Their baby blue boots come up all the way over their knees and he takes a moment to wonder how the hell they manage to walk in those before Jehan practically wraps their entire body around him.

Grantaire smiles and laughs, embracing Jehan tightly with both of his arms. He closes his eyes, just holding them for a second and enjoying the close contact. Jehan always smells nice, like some sort of flowers and he’s never been sure if it’s perfume or a natural scent or all of the floral patterns that they wear. He doesn’t care. Either way he loves it and all of their clothes smell the same.

As they pull apart, he notices the way that Jehan’s eyes are shining slightly and before he can ask what’s wrong, Jehan starts rambling like they haven’t talked to anyone in days.

“You look so healthy!” They practically cry, touching his face and smiling. The words are flying out of their mouth so fast Grantaire is struggling to understand what they’re even saying. “Look at you! Your cheeks aren’t even pale at all and you've shaved and your hair is so soft and fluffy and I can tell you’ve been sleeping better, and you don’t smell at all like alcohol at all and I don’t know what you smell like now but I like it so much better than alcohol. But that’s not to say you smelled bad before or anything! Or that you looked bad! This is just different, I’m not used to this at all and I've already said half of this to you and I should stop talking already oh gosh.” Despite the small pang of insecurity at Jehan’s comments, he knows that they’re rambling and that at least he looks better now. “Gosh, I’m sorry, I’m just so happy, and so proud of you! Three weeks! That's amazing!”

Grantaire smiles, blinking slowly in order to stop himself from tearing up. Getting acceptance from at least one person is so comforting that his anxiety has already lessened considerably.

“Thank you,” He says. He’s been working on accepting people’s well wishes and compliments better.

“Sorry, I’m done rambling,” they say, wrapping him in one more quick hug. “You just look so much more alive.”

Grantaire feels much better already. “I feel much more alive.” And he does. He loves being able to think more clearly and being able to tell what’s going on all of the time as opposed to only seventy-five percent of the time. He also likes not feeling sick or tired as much and not feeling a constant and uncontrollable itch to have another drink. He still craves it, but it’s slowly becoming less and less with each passing day. Bahorel getting rid of all of the alcohol in the house after his small freak out had helped immensely.

Jehan smiles at him, straightening out their sweater. “That's wonderful.”

Grantaire looks over to where Bahorel and Enjolras had been standing, only to find that both he and Bahorel have disappeared. He doesn't get much time to think about it because the doorbell rings a few moments after he notices that they've gone.

After the arrival of Jehan and Enjolras, everyone manages to show up within the next thirty minutes, which is usual. Every person, much to Grantaire's surprise, greats him with a hug. Eponine, Cosette and Musichetta all giving him kisses on the cheek as well. By the time they're all there, Courfeyrac and Marius arriving last, Grantaire already feels much better than he had before. He's still worried, but it's much less now that he's been hugged so many times and without even asking.

“Where are Bahorel and Enjolras?” Grantaire asks Jehan quietly, touching their shoulders together without really thinking about it and looking around as everyone begins seating themselves in the living room. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta take the couch immediately and Marius and Cosette take the recliner soon after. Eponine takes the love seat all to herself and Feuilly sits in front of her without complaint as Combeferre and Courfeyrac sit next to each other in front of the couch, leaving space for one more person in front of it. For once, Grantaire is thankful that they don't have a coffee table.

“I think they're in the kitchen,” Jehan replies, looking around the room quickly to verify that they're not there.

“I'll go grab them real quick,” Grantaire says, moving towards the kitchen only to have Jehan grab his arm and stop him.

“Actually,” They say, smiling oddly. “I'll get them.”

Grantaire gives them a suspicious look, trying not to seem offended. “I can do it, Jehan,” he replies, removing their hand from his arm. “Enjolras doesn't hate me that much.”

Jehan looks like they're going for a second, but instead they drop their hand. “Alright.” They look a bit nervous as they move towards the mass of people in the living room and just like that Grantaire's anxiety is back.

He shakes his hands slightly, walking into the kitchen. Apparently, he walks in on some sort of intense conversation because Bahorel, who has his back to Grantaire is almost yelling at Enjolras as he speaks.

“Do you realize what you did to him?” Bahorel asks, flinging an arm towards the general direction of the living room. “And now, you wanna just-” He's cut off by Enjolras, who puts a hand on his arm in the way that he always does when he's trying to prove a point.

“Bahorel,” He says and Grantaire shrinks back into himself. “I realize, that you're concerned, but I think that Grantaire can handle himself. Especially if what Jehan said is true.”

“I _know_ that he can, thank you, and yes what they said was true.” Bahorel says, pulling his arm away. “But you have to realize something else. Just because you think that you can talk to him however you want, doesn't mean you can do it with something like this. He's not going to just fal-” 

Midway through Bahorel's sentence, Enjolras' gaze shifts, and Grantaire freezes as they make eye contact, crushing his water bottle with the surprised clench of his hand. Bahorel, seeing the look on Enjolras' face, cuts himself off, turning around to see him staring there.

Grantaire stares at them, confused and worried as Bahorel turns around. “Oh.” Is all he says.

Bahorel looks like someone has hit him and Enjolras is oddly pale.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says. “We were just-” He cuts himself off, looking towards Bahorel, who's no longer looking towards Grantaire, but has turned his body towards him. He sounds frantic and Grantaire is beginning to feel mildly sick.

His hands are starting to shake very slightly and he hates that they've been in the kitchen for at least twenty minutes talking about him. He regrets not letting Jehan just come to get them

“You were just...?” He asks, looking back and forth between them and loosening his grip on the water bottle. He tries not to look as nervous and confused as he is, but he knows he's not doing a very good job. Bahorel is avoiding making eye contact with him, something he never does.

“We were discussing some personal matters,” Enjolras continues when Bahorel still says nothing.

“About me?” Grantaire asks, raising his eyebrows and moving his head forward slightly. “I heard you say my name.”

Neither of them reply, but Enjolras looks like he's just seen something that he absolutely didn't want to.

“Bahorel?” Grantaire asks nervously, moving to the side to try and meet his eyes. “Are you OK?”

Bahorel stares at the kitchen counter for a moment before finally looking at him. Grantaire's anxiety hikes up even more when he realizes that Bahorel looks pissed. He wonders what Enjolras could've possibly said to him to make him so mad.

“Yeah, R,” He says, rolling his tongue around in his mouth for a moment. “It's all good.”

“Uh, OK,” Grantaire says skeptically, feeling entirely unsure of himself. His heart is beating unnecessarily fast as he shifts from his weight from his left foot to his right. “Everyone is out there already, so we're just waiting for you.”

“We're on our way out right now.” Bahorel turns to give Enjolras some sort of look that Grantaire can't see before turning back around and walking from the kitchen. As he leaves, he touches Grantaire's arm gently in a reassuring way.

Enjolras passes him as well, smiling at him tightly and Grantaire sighs as he follows him out.

“R!” Courfeyrac says excitedly as he enters the room, getting up to grab him. “What movie do want to watch?”

Grantaire smiles widely. He's never really been picky about what movie they watch, but it's nice that Courfeyrac even thought of offering for him to choose. “How about you pick, I don't really care what we watch. I'm just glad you're all here, honestly.”

Joly awes loudly from behind him, grabbing his hips and pulling him down onto his lap. Grantaire laughs, allowing himself to be pulled down.

“Grantaire, you softy!” Bossuet teases, batting his eyelids at him. “You really do love us!” He puckers his lips over dramatically, leaning towards him. Grantaire continues laughing, pushing his face away with the palm of his hand as Joly moves him slightly so that he can grab his legs and put them up onto his lap. He leans back against Bossuet, who has one arm tangled with Musichetta's. He wraps the other arm around him, resting it gently on his stomach.

“Of course I do, you idiot,” Grantaire replies, patting the hand on his stomach gently as Courfeyrac busies himself with looking through his large collection of movies. “I couldn't be doing any of this without you.” He feels his cheeks heat gently at the admission, causing him to look down. He never blushed when he was drinking, the color being a permanent fixture on his face after two or three drinks.

“That's what we're here for,” Jehan says, reaching over themself to pat his foot lightly from where he's sat near them on the floor in between Bahorel's legs.

Grantaire raises an eyebrow at the way that Bahorel seems to be mouthing at Jehan's neck, although Grantaire can't see his mouth from this angle. Bahorel and Jehan have always been closer than the rest of them, so he decides not to question it, instead grinning and kicking their hand gently.

A few minutes later, as Courfeyrac is busy with putting a DVD in the player, Grantaire realizes that he's out of water. After a few moments of struggling against Bossuet and Joly, who seem to want to do everything for him, he manages to stand from the couch.

“I'll be right back,” he promises with a laugh at Bossuet's over exaggerated pout. “I promise.”

Bossuet sighs in defeat, leaning back against Musichetta dramatically. Joly lays back across him just as dramatically and Grantaire rolls his eyes, making his way to the kitchen as quickly as he can. He doesn't want to delay the movie.

He's about to head back into the living room when a voice startles him so much he almost drops his water bottle.

“I need to talk to you.”

There's a hand on his arm, and warm breath tickling his ear slightly and Grantaire stops breathing for moment. Enjolras is standing right behind him, hand in the crook of his elbow and mouth closer to him than Grantaire will ever admit to wanting it. His hands start shaking even more.

Grantaire simply turns to look at him, unable to say anything. His head is swimming slightly in anxiety. He wonders what the others must be thinking about them alone together in the kitchen. He doesn't think he's ready for whatever this conversation is about to entail, if Enjolras is willing to put himself in a position to be made fun of as soon as the return to the living room.

Enjolras nods, using the grip he has on his arm to guide him slightly. He knows a few people are probably watching the interaction, since he can feel eyes on him and none of his friends can mind their own business for even a moment, but he's too focused on where Enjolras is touching him to care at all. Enjolras leads him outside onto the small balcony that connects to his and Bahorel's kitchen, closing the sliding door behind them. Grantaire turns to look at the entrance to the kitchen while he's being lead and confirms what he had thought. Jehan and Courfeyrac are both there, trying to look inconspicuous. He manages to flip them off before he steps outside.

It's cold out, but Grantaire doesn't really mind. His skin is heated with his anxiety anyways and he likes the fresh air. He stays quiet for a moment but he can hardly keep his mouth closed.

“What were you talking to Bahorel about?” He asks, voice slightly higher pitched than normal. He clears his throat awkwardly.

“I need to talk to you,” Enjolras says, letting go of his arm and turning around to face him fully.

Grantaire nods, unable to form words for a moment because Enjolras is probably the most beautiful thing he's ever seen and he feels like if he speaks he'll realize that he's dreaming this whole situation. There's no way someone can look that good naturally. “You already said that.” His heart is beating unusually fast still and he's actually terrified of whatever Enjolras is going to say because he doesn't think that he can handle another apology like the last one.

“I'm sorry,” Enjolras says and Grantaire has the urge to sigh. “I know that it sounds like I'm ingenuine, or that I'm only looking out for myself, but I truly am sorry Grantaire. The way that I treat you sometimes is unacceptable and rude, and I've been wanting to apologize for a very long time now, but I've never really known how to.”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow at him, slightly disbelieving. He knows that Enjolras is always very blunt and very straight forward when he realizes that he's made a mistake and there's nothing to indicate that he's doing anything different in that moment. There's a part of his brain though, the self deprecating part, that doesn't want to believe the apology, because that means admitting that Enjolras likes him on at least one level and the only way he's been keeping his sanity all these years is by knowing that Enjolras does not like him.

“And yes, now is definitely a horrible time for this, but I can honestly assure you that it has nothing to do with your decision to be sober. I would've still apologized if you were still drinking. And yes, it may have come later if you hadn't gone dry, but it would've come eventually.” Enjolras is staring at him, eyebrows drawn together ever so slightly in the way they always do when he's concerned or trying to be serious.

He seems so earnest that Grantaire can't help but find himself believing him, despite how much he wants to be able to hate himself and not believe that Enjolras would care about him enough to apologize for anything he's ever done to him.

“The ultimate truth of the matter,” Grantaire has to physically stop himself from laughing at Enjolras' word choice. Enjolras steps towards him a very small amount before continuing. “is that I like you quite a bit, Grantaire, and I would very much like to get to know you better.”

Grantaire, much to his dismay and embarrassment chokes on his own spit. He's sure he's not imagining the slight nervousness in Enjolras' stance, the same as the first time he'd apologized, and his words. He's also sure that he's not imagining the way that Enjolras is staring at him like he can't look anywhere else.

Grantaire feels like he's been slapped in the face and all he can do is stare for a moment because there's no way in _hell_ that Enjolras has feelings for him. Things like that don't happen to him. They just don't. 

“You-” He sputters slightly, eyes wide. It's becoming harder to ignore his anxiety as he realizes exactly what Enjolras has just said to him. “You _what_ me? Do you mean that as in, _like_ me?” Grantaire prays that Enjolras will be an asshole. That he'll correct him with a smirk and and annoyance and they can go back to being annoying around each other and not worry about it. 

Instead, Enjolras tilts his head slightly, crossing his arms defensively. Grantaire's eyes widen even more.

“Well, yes,” Enjolras says, breathing in deeply. “I'm sorry that it's so horrible of me to tell you something like that.” He's trying to sound angry, but Grantaire can hear the nervousness and dejection in his voice.

“No no no.” Grantaire hurries to reply, not wanting Enjolras to get the wrong idea from his reaction. The last thing he needs is Enjolras thinking that he doesn't like him. “No, I'm surprised. Until two minutes ago I thought you hated me.”

“I told you that I don't the last time we talked.” Enjolras stares at him still, and Grantaire can't help but feel extremely exposed and self-conscious by now. He's certainly not at his best. “I wasn't lying.”

“OK,” Grantaire says slowly. “Since when have you _liked_ me, Enjolras? You've never … we've never even...” 

He's a hypocrite, for asking him about it. It's not like he's ever shown any signs of being head over heels for Enjolras. But now that he thinks about it more, he supposes they both had good reason.

“I told you that I'm not good at articulating my worry.” Enjolras uncrosses his arms. “I never meant to make it seem like I hated you. I just didn't want you to ruin your life. You're an incredible person, Grantaire, and it would've been a tragedy to see you waste your life in alcohol.” 

“Oh.” Grantaire feels very stupid, looking Enjolras in the eyes after this confession and not having anything to say but that. He's not even sure if he believes Enjolras in the first place, since he's naturally skeptical of anything having to do with himself and any sort of romantic feelings, but he can't just write him off entirely. “I, um.”

“And, um, for the record, I never asked Jehan about any of the personal things that you told me. I never did research on you or anything like that.”

Grantaire flushes entirely, looking down at his shoes and remembering that he'd accidentally told Enjolras about his past in his anger. He's been trying very hard to not think about his little tirade, but now that it's in his face, he regrets it more than ever before. He tangles his fingers together nervously, the only habit he's really kept after going dry.

“But we don't have to talk about that now,” Enjolras says quickly and Grantaire breathes a sigh of relief, untwisting his fingers slightly. He's not ready to try and explain his past to Enjolras in detail. “For now, I just wanted to-”

He's cut off by Joly opening the sliding door and peaking his head out.

“Everyone is waiting for you guys,” he says, looking at Enjolras suspiciously before looking back at Grantaire to gauge how horribly the situation is going. Grantaire wonders what Enjolras what excuse Enjolras had used to enter the kitchen after him as he tries to give Bahorel a look that says both 'go the hell away' and 'everything is fine' at the same time.

“We'll be in in just a minute,” Grantaire says, nodding at him.

Joly nods back, giving Enjolras another look before slinking back inside.

Grantaire turns back towards Enjolras to find him closer than expected. He manages to contain his squeak of surprise, but only barely.

“I wanted to ask you,” Enjolras continues before Grantaire can ask him to. He pauses with his mouth very slightly open, eyes glinting with something that Grantaire recognizes easily as doubt. It doesn't last long, as he straightens out his back and looks him in the eyes again. “If you would like to go on a date with me.”

Grantaire's brain stops functioning for a moment as he processing what Enjolras is asking him. A date. A real date. With Enjolras. Who he's been in love with for years. He's not sure he's actually alive anymore.

“You want to go on a date with me?” He asks incredulously. He's been beating himself up for years. Drinking himself into rages and depressions and everything in between over Enjolras. He can't think straight.

“Well, yes, I did just say that.” Enjolras' eyebrows push together slightly.

“I really don't think you actually want to do that,” Grantaire insists, shaking his head. “I don't even know if _I_ want to do that.” His eyes widen and his heart is beating at a pace that can't be healthy.

“What do you mean?” Enjolras tilts his head thoughtfully and Grantaire is beginning to have trouble thinking at all, let alone straight.

“You're insinuating that you would like to date me, yes?” Grantaire tilts his chin towards his chest slightly, indicating that he wants a response.

“Yes.” The timid tone of Enjolras' voice is almost scary for Grantaire to hear. It's not timid as if he's disappointed someone, or something has gone wrong and he doesn't know how to fix it. It's timid in a way that Grantaire has never heard. Enjolras is timid because their conversation could end so many different ways that even Grantaire isn't sure what will happen next. “I did say that very clearly, R.”

“That means that you want a relationship with me,” Grantaire concludes, tangling his fingers back together from when he'd untangled them while talking to Joly. “Out of anyone, in the entire world.”

Enjolras simply nods, looking resolute and apprehensive.

“I don't think you understand who I am,” Grantaire laughs a little bit while talking because this feels far too much like how things had ended the first time that Enjolras had apologized. And again, he wants so badly to just accept the offer and let Enjolras figure it out on his own. He doesn't think he could stand the heartbreak though, so he continues. “Enj, I can't even begin to explain to you the type of things that are wrong with me right now. I literally just stopped drinking three weeks ago. I punched Bahorel in the face last week! I'm a mess!”

“I think I can decide whether or not I can handle it on my own.” Enjolras sniffs haughtily and Grantaire almost laughs again.

“I punched Bahorel.” If nothing else, Grantaire is persistent.

“I'm aware, R, I was there the morning after to pick up Jehan.” Enjolras says,voice growing slightly impatient.

Grantaire snorts, raising his eyebrows. “You'll never get to meet my parents, and your parents most likely will not like me.” He racks his brain for more bad things that could effect Enjolras in the long run since he'll inevitably find some way to get around this one.

“What my parents think of you has no bearing on our relationship. I'm an adult and therefore not reliant on them.” Enjolras steps ever closer and they're standing so close together that Grantaire is having an even harder time breathing than before. “You're not going to change my mind about this, unless you genuinely aren't interested in going on a date with me.”

Grantaire is close to holding his breath. He's halfway between completely turning Enjolras down, and kissing him right then and there. “I'm not what you're looking for Enjolras. I don't know who you think I am, but whoever it is isn't the real me.”

Enjolras studies him for a moment as if he's deciding what to do and Grantaire holds his breath.

“Then I'd like a chance to get to know you,” he finally says, moving his body closer. He's so close that Grantaire can smell whatever perfume Jehan has sprayed on him. “Without all of your insecurities and doubts blocking my view.”

Grantaire is unable to form words for a moment, unable to believe Enjolras' incredible stubbornness. He tries to think of a reason to say no. He searches nearly every corner of his brain, but he can't find one. Enjolras is beautiful, and right in front of him, and asking him out on a date and he's been in love with him for years. The only thing stopping him is him.

“I- I,” Grantaire stutters slightly. “I need time to think about this.”

“I'll give you all the time you need. I know that it's probably a shock to you and I'm sorry again, that I'm doing this at such an inopportune time. I suppose I just couldn't bring myself to wait any longer.”

“Right,” Grantaire says. “Because you've been wanting to apologize for a long time. Because you like me. And you want to get to know me.”

Enjolras simply nods at him, finally unfolding his arms from across chest. Enjolras' hand brushes against his arm as it falls to his side and Grantaire shivers involuntarily. “I apolo-”

“If you say you're sorry one more time I'm going to kick your ass before Bahorel gets a chance to,” Grantaire says, cutting him off. He can't handle him apologizing for something that he's been waiting for years to hear.

“OK.” Enjolras' reply is awkward, and his lips are pressed together tightly, no doubt to stop another apology from finding its way out of his mouth.

“Is this what you talked to Bahorel about?” He asks, reestablishing their eye contact. Enjolras' eyes are darker blue than Grantaire is used to, but he thinks it's just the lack of lighting on the balcony. “Is this why he was angry?”

“I just wanted him to know that I was going to ask you on a date.” Enjolras actually looks down, breaking their eye contact, to Grantaire's disappointment. “Since he's your best friend, I thought he had a right to know.”

“Thank God you didn't consult with Eponine, who's actually my official first best friend, according to her,” Enjolras' eyes flash with something Grantaire doesn't know. “She would've just punched you directly in the eye.”

“Good to know.” Enjolras voice is unwavering in it's determination. “I'll keep that in mind.”

“You discussed it for twenty minutes?” Grantaire's voice falters with the realization.

Enjolras breaths in deeply, looking back up at him. “I asked him how you were first.”

“Oh.” He doesn't have anything more to say to that. He hasn't been good until very recently, and he knows whatever Bahorel told him about wasn't a fun story.

“And then when I finally told him about my plans to ask you on a date, he laughed at me first, thinking I was joking.” Enjolras' eyes are soft like Grantaire has never seen them. His heart melts a bit and he's entirely too fond of Enjolras, he knows, but he can't help it. “But I told him that I was serious and he got angry. I'm not sure how much of our conversation you heard, but he was telling me about, um, well.” Grantaire makes mental note of how often Enjolras says well when he's nervous. “He told me about how upset you were when you punched him in the face, and how upset you'd been when Joly came to help you.”

Grantaire cringes, grip tightening on his water bottle. He doesn't like to think too much about either of those occurrences.

“And I told him that I was trying to make things better and I thought he was going to punch me for a moment because he was gesturing around and then-” 

“I think that's when I walked in,” Grantaire interrupts. He blushes, knowing how often he manages to do that to Enjolras. “when you told him that I can handle myself.”

The screen door opens again, causing them both to turn towards it. This time its Jehan.

“Bahorel says that he's going to kick your ass if you're making Grantaire upset,” They say, looking at Enjolras. “I'm not sure how you would be doing that, but if you are I'll also have to kick your ass on principle, since I told you specifically not to do that.”

Grantaire can't help but smile at them, shaking his head. “I'm fine, Jehan. We'll come inside right now, just give me a second.”

Jehan side eyes him slightly, but closes the door with a shurg none the less.

“We can talk about this later,” Enjolras offers, smiling sheepishly. Grantaire's heart swells.

“I just want to tell you something,” Grantaire says, a slight tremble returning to his hands. He almost drops his water bottle as he prepares himself. He needs to tell Enjolras, before they try anything, just how deep his feelings really run. “I'm in love with you.”

Enjolras freezes visibly, inhaling sharply.

Grantaire continues before Enjolras can say anything. “I don't want that to be a secret. I know that you're not in love with me as well, which is OK. The reason that I need time to think is the fact that I've been tearing myself apart over you for a very long time. I've thought you hated me for years and hearing you say that you don't is a shock, and honestly, very hard for me to believe. And I think it would be good for us to be friends first. Or least start talking more, before you jump head first into something like this. Something like  _me._ ” 

Enjolras' eyes are shining by the time he's done, and Grantaire can see the determination that's still filling them.

“That's fine. That makes sense and it's perfectly OK. As I said, I'm willing to give you all the time that you need, and you can say no at any time.”

Grantaire has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Enjolras is always telling everyone the importance of consent and patience. “Let's get back inside.”

“Right,” Enjolras agrees, taking a step towards him. “I'm afraid Bahorel will have my head if I keep you out here any longer. And besides, we're supposed to be celebrating.”

Grantaire smiles, nodding. “I wouldn't be too scared of Bahorel. Just pop him in the nose and he's down for the count.”

Enjolras snorts at that, smiling back at him. “I'll keep that in mind.” Enjolras stays standing in front of him for a moment, shifting his weight slightly. “Can I, um,” He moves his hand towards where Grantaire's are twisted together.

Grantaire takes a moment to realize what he means, blushing when he does. He untangles his fingers, holding out a hand towards Enjolras tentatively. This was the last thing he expected when he followed Enjolras out onto the balcony.

Enjolras takes his hand with a gentleness that Grantaire is only somewhat surprised by. He knows that Enjolras definitely has a soft side, but he never thought that he would be shown that side of him directed towards him. His hands are warm and much, much softer than Grantaire's calloused and paint stained hands and Grantaire can barely breath as he intertwines their fingers.

“Is this OK?” Enjolras asks, looking up and directly into his eyes.

Grantaire nods, unable to form words that aren't  _I love you_ , or  _please kiss me_ . They maintain eye  contact for a few moments more before Grantaire looks away, feeling a bit too exposed for his liking. 

Enjolras doesn't say anything, just opens the door that leads back into the kitchen to find both Bahorel and Jehan arguing near the door frame that connects the living room to the kitchen.

“Oh,” Jehan says when they see them. “Good.” Their eyes widen slightly when he sees their hands.

“Grantaire,” Bahorel says immediately. “Is everything OK.”

Grantaire rolls his eyes. “I think that much is obvious, 'rel.” He moves his and Enjolras' hands slightly to show him what he's talking about.

“Oh,” Bahorel replies, giving their hands a confused look. “You were just talking for a long time.” He raises an eyebrow suspiciously.

“There was a lot to talk about,” Grantaire shrugs. “But I'm sure you know that.” He winks at him, reveling in the terribly confused expression on his face.

“We should get back into the living room,” Enjolras suggests, gesturing with his free hand, “Since everyone is waiting for us.” He gives Bahorel one of his signature smiles and Grantaire has to stop himself from laughing.

“Right,” Bahorel mumbles, turning around and practically stalking into the living room, followed by Jehan, who giggles at him.

Enjolras follows both of them, not letting go of Grantaire's hand. Grantaire prepares himself for whatever the group will have to say about him and Enjolras, but to his surprise, no one says anything. They all stare as Enjolras lead Grantaire to the love seat that Eponine has abandoned in favor of sitting with Feuilly on the floor in front of it. Courfeyrac looks like it's physically paining him to hold back whatever comment he wants to make, but the room remains silent as they sit next to each other and Jehan turns off the lights so that they can watch whatever movie Courfeyrac has picked.

Grantaire sits awkwardly next to Enjolras, unsure of how much physical contact he wants to have with him. Their hands remain linked and Grantaire stares at them for a long time before deciding to just enjoy this moment while he has it.

He leans very slightly into Enjolras, who takes the hint immediately, completely reorienting himself so that Grantaire can lean against him comfortably. Their hands separate for a moment but Grantaire hardly has time to miss the warmth that it created before Enjolras is wrapping both of his arms around his shoulders gently. He's sat between Enjolras' legs, which is awkward on the small loveseat, but he doesn't mind. He can feel Enjolras breathing steadily and he feels like something inside of him has settled.

He can hear Courfeyrac whispering to someone, but he ignores it

He's asleep before the ending credits of the movie can roll.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys liked it! You can follow me on tumblr if you want (jehangelras) and please leave comments and let me know what you think! There will definitely be a second part that I'm already working on right now, so no worries!


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